“And like those commercials, it’s making me want to do it more,” Georgia says. She slides the tin out of Ollie’s pocket and pops another in her mouth.
“I’mneurotic?” I shoot back at Oliver. “Youwouldn’t smoke with me before class in high school because you were afraid you would forget yourlocker combinationand not be able to get your textbooks!”
Georgia cackles, smacking Oliver on the arm. “Nerd.”
“Ben and I are going to take care of Frankie today,” Tita Gloria cuts in. “Do whatever you want.Bahala ka sa buhay mo.”
“And how do you know what an edible is, Tita?” I ask her. “What if it makes us all crazy and want to call the ambulance on ourselves?” Which is something I seriously considered doing after a few too many brownies in college.I don’t feel anything, I’m taking more, and all that.
“Tsk,” she clicks her tongue. “Please. I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“I take them for my arthritis,” Tito Ben offers.
“And the worst that happens is he sits on the couch for too long or eats too much candy or laughs too hard at my jokes or…” she waggles her eyebrows and thrusts her hips a little, “you know. Gets a little handsy.”
Oliver and I both dry heave.
Oliver takes deep, cleansing breaths. “Anyway, it’s not like it was when we were younger, Dom. We used to?—”
“You didn’t used to do shit?—”
“—edibles were a crap shoot back then. Someone would hand you a brownie and it could have nothing or twenty times the normal dosage. It’s legal and regulated and properly labeled now, so you know exactly how much you’re getting.”
“How strong are those?” I ask Georgia.
“Not that strong,” she answers.
“Not that strong for you or not that strong for me?”
“Strong enough for you to have fun but not want to call the ambulance on yourself.”
Lina raises her hand.
I sigh. “Yes?”
“Let’s do it together. We promised each other we’d relax. And we’ll do just a little bit. Will you be an edible person with me today? Can we be New and Improved Real Life Lina and Dom?” she implores, feline eyes wide, her soft hand shaking my forearm. “Please?”
I look towards the living room, where Frankie sits.
“This will be good for us, Dom. Fun. Remember the patio?” Lina tells me quietly, like it’s a secret between the two of us, squeezing my hand.
I blow out a breath. “Fuck it,” I say, holding my hand out to Oliver, but Georgia is already there like a magical drug fairy and sliding something surprisingly gummy into my palm.
“Cheers,” Lina smiles, and we touch them together and pop them in.
It tastes like a Sour Patch Kid and not like the rotting cardboard of a college dorm brownie. “Ollie, could you please go lock that in your room?” I ask him. “Where Frankie will never find it?”
The elementary school principal, responsible for the safety of five hundred children ages four to ten, nods, eyes softening. “Of course.”
“I’m not having fun yet,” I inform Lina, who grins at me.
* * *
An hour or seventeen later, Oliver, Georgia, Lina, Frankie, and I are sitting on the beach, on the wet part (What’s that part called again? The shore? Does the wet part even have a name? If so, what’s the dry part called?) surrounded by dozens of carefully constructed drip castles and spinning a tale of a vast, hidden kingdom beneath the sand. Known as Dripmoor.
“These aren’t castles,” Georgia says seriously. “These are magical fortresses.”
“And each is ruled by different factions of ancient, sea-dwelling creatures…” Oliver adds.
